


And Each Slow Dusk

by bananasandroses (achuislemochroi)



Series: Whofic [7]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 4X13 (Journey's End), F/M, Inspired by Poetry, Tenth Doctor Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-11
Updated: 2008-11-11
Packaged: 2018-04-04 07:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4129816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achuislemochroi/pseuds/bananasandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Remember</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Each Slow Dusk

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was partly inspired by, and the title and quote in the fic are both from, _Anthem for Doomed Youth_ by Wilfred Owen.

He’s a soldier, too, or was; if Davros is to be believed (and he’s still not sure that he _isn’t_ ), he’s been busy ever since creating his companions in his own image.

How could he have let Rose come back to that? She, whom he loves so much that he has never been capable of being rational about her? No; it breaks him to admit it, but she is better where she is. Safe and happy, and far enough away from him that he cannot taint her any further. His duplicate is the better man.

He had been a father, once upon a time. Is still (well, in his head.) A brother; a son. A friend.

Funny how nobody ever said a word about that. Rose had known better than to ask; Martha, like all the others, had known nothing – and he had told them even less. 

He has not forgotten them, the lost ones; he holds them with him always. The guilt he bears for their destruction is a crown of thorns of which he’ll never be rid. On his worst days he even believes he deserves the punishment.

He, the one who would not willingly bear arms, was the architect of his people’s destruction. He, the pacifist, has the blood of untold millions on his hands. 

The turtle-dove turned Stormcrow. And the punishment? Left behind to wander the Universe alone, as guardian and policeman – the night watchman, rearguard of light against the darkness.

_And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds._


End file.
